


Everything Is Safer Now

by Brenda



Series: Barnes & Rogers [4]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve, Snark, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You've spent your whole life questioning authority.  You may as well have it tattooed on you somewhere."</i>
</p><p>Or:</p><p>Five Times Bucky Argued With Steve Because That's How They Communicate (And One Time When Steve Returned The Favor).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Is Safer Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/gifts).



> So, awhile back (I don't want to say how long, because it's truly embarrassing) Ignipes and I had this email exchange where we basically dreamed up this idea of Bucky and Steve having a pretty epic argument in front of the rest of the Avengers and how they wouldn't think it was a big deal because that's just how they communicated. Somewhere in there, I think I also promised her a conversation between Bucky and Bruce.
> 
> I have _no_ idea how that germ of a story grew into this behemoth, but I blame Ignipes. Well, mostly I blame Bucky and Steve, but Ignipes totally gets some of it. :) 
> 
> Translations are embedded in the story and are also listed in the end notes.

_"Sometimes the best that you can do is start over."_ \- Peggy Carter

 _"Truth is a matter of circumstance. It's not all things to all people all the time."_ \- Natasha Romanov

 

1\. _"Watching fate as it flows_  
_Down the path we have chose"_

 

The fist raised again, and the voice attached to it was a bullying sneer. "Had enough yet?"

Steve squinted out of his good eye and spat out a glob of saliva mixed with blood. At least he hadn't lost any teeth this time. Score one for the good guys. "Not even close." 

His sneer wasn't quite as impressive as the other boy's, especially considering he was sprawled on the ground on his behind with a busted up face, but he put everything he had into it. Wasn't right what Gil said to poor MaryJo, and someone needed to say something about it. And if Steve was going down for being that someone, he'd take his licking like a man his pa would have been proud of, and try to get in a few shots of his own. 

He jutted his jaw and braced himself for an impact that never came. Confused, he opened his eyes again, and found another kid – dark-haired and whipcord lean, maybe Steve's age or a little older, it was hard to tell – dragging Gil off of him in a rather secure headlock. 

"I _said_ , knock it off. Or I'll make you," the kid said, in a non-nonsense manner that made him sound a lot older.

Gil tried to pull the arm from his neck, but the kid just tightened his grip. "Okay, ugh, _okay_ ," Gil croaked, and the kid immediately let go and stepped back out of range of Gil's thrashing feet.

"Now scram before I go and change my mind about kicking your tail."

Gil rubbed his throat, but still found the energy to sneer once again at Steve. "This ain't over, pipsqueak."

Steve shrugged. "Not afraid of you." Which maybe made him stupid, but his ma'd raised him to do what was right and to be brave. And letting his ma down wasn't even worth thinking about.

The other kid jerked a thumb towards the street. "I said _scram_."

Steve waited until Gil had disappeared around the corner before deeming it safe enough to clamber to his feet. He felt a little wheezy, but not too bad, all things considered. No hacking or coughing or dizziness or anything else. His pants were dirty, but there weren't any new holes, which was a plus. Maybe he could play off the black eye and split lip, blame it on a fall or slipping on the sidewalk. He hated the worried look Ma got when he came home all bloodied and bruised.

"You okay, pal?" the other boy asked, giving him a concerned look. "He didn't getcha too bad, did he?"

Steve shook his head, and pushed lanky strands of white-blond hair from his face. "Nah, Gil's a punk. Hits like a girl."

"You ain't ever been on the wrong end of my sister's fists or you'd have more respect for how girls hit." Then the kid held out a hand. "I seen you around the neighborhood. Rogers, right?"

"Yeah, but everyone calls me Steve." He swiped a smear of blood from his cheek and took the outstretched hand in a shake. Tried to make it nice and manly, like he'd seen fellas do at church and such. "I've seen you around, too."

"James Buchanan Barnes," the kid said and fished out a slightly crumpled handkerchief from the back pocket of his frayed and patched jeans. "But my friends call me Bucky. And right now, I reckon I'm the best friend you got."

Steve took the cloth gratefully and tried to wipe away the worst of the blood and dirt from his face. "What's that supposedta mean?" 

"You can't just go around mouthing off to Gil Brown and his goons like that. You'll get yourself beat bloody every day or killed or worse."

Steve straightened to his full, slender height – he almost, but not quite, came up to the other boy's chin – and leveled his best glare Bucky's way. "Someone's gotta stand up to 'em. They can't go around calling girls..." He trailed off. He couldn't even _say_ the word, it was so bad. 

"I know that," Bucky said, with a dismissive wave. "Ain't saying you shouldn't put him and his buddies back in their place, of course you should, any honest fella would. But you need a better plan than just telling 'em to eat dirt right to their face."

Steve's earlier ire deflated under the weight of Bucky's sincerity. Finally, he'd met someone else who understood the importance of sticking up for the little guy. "You saying you have one?"

"Stick with me, pal." Bucky looked solemnly at Steve, his bright blue eyes – the color of the sky right before twilight – almost too big for his angular face. "See, you ain't all that big just yet, so you can't beat 'em at their own game in a punching match. You gotta learn to fight _smarter_ than them, that's all."

For the first time in Steve's short life, someone hadn't referred to his small size with any sort of pity in their tone. For the first time ever, someone understood that it was okay to be a scrawny kid and still want to fight back against the injustices of the world. Bucky'd just stated it like a fact, like saying Steve had blond hair or blue eyes or something.

"And how'm I supposedta do that?" he asked, trying not to act like what Bucky was saying was a big deal.

Bucky slung a skinny arm around Steve's even skinnier shoulders and leaned in, his breath a warm balm against Steve's ear. "I told you, I got a _plan_. Stick with me and it'll all be Jake."

"Well, what is it?" Steve asked, after a moment, letting his curiosity get the better of him.

"We just need a coupla onions and some caramel and some sticks," Bucky started, then laid out the full plan. It was simple, devious, and ingenious. The sort of prank that required underhandedness and patience and some level of stealth. None of which Steve was all that good at.

Not to mention, there was no way they wouldn't get caught. "Uh uh, no way, nope," Steve said when Bucky finished. "No way it'll work."

"Sure it will," Bucky said, as earnest as anything. "And it's better'n getting your fanny kicked again."

Steve shook his head so fast he felt dizzy. "He'll kill both of us when he finds out." Getting the snot beat out of him was one thing. But what Bucky was suggesting was suicide.

"Steve, he won't even know we had anything to do with it," Bucky promised, and squeezed Steve's shoulders. "Trust me."

"How're we gonna get in his desk to plant them without him seeing or getting caught by Miss Groves?"

"Easy, we just get to school early and do it before she gets there. She never shows up before eight on account of how she has to take the trolley every morning," Bucky said. "I pay attention to that sort of thing."

Steve narrowed his eyes, but Bucky didn't flinch. "You seem awful sure of yourself."

Bucky pointed a thumb at his own chest. "When you've got an older sister, you learn to get real good at sneaky. I'm the best in the business."

"Wouldn't know," Steve said, in a small voice, with an even smaller shrug. "Only kid." 

Bucky nudged him and when Steve looked up, Bucky's smile was about as big as the Park Row Building and as dazzlingly bright as the Manhattan skyline at night. "Well, you ain't gotta worry about that no more. I always wanted a brother."

He wouldn't cry. Crying was for babies and lovestruck young girls. But he couldn't stop the crack in his voice when he replied, "Me too." At least he hadn't started blubbering all over the place like a sissy and giving Bucky a reason to reconsider his offer of help and friendship.

"Then it's settled," Bucky said, and gave him a solemn nod that was as binding as a blood vow. "So, you in or out?"

"All in," Steve replied with his own nod that cemented his place by Bucky's side. Besides, if Bucky was determined to incur Gil's wrath on Steve's behalf, the least Steve could do was stand by his side like a good friend.

 

   
2\. _"We'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide_  
_I'll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side"_

 

Bucky and Steve may go way back to their days tussling around on the playground and ganging up on the bullies on their block, and they might have been living in each other's pockets since they were both skin-kneed kids and all, but there were days – brother, there were days – when Bucky didn't understand Steve at all. He may be the most loyal and doggedly determined person Bucky'd ever known, but there were genuinely some times when Bucky worried about Steve's smarts. 

Sure, he'd known Steve forever and had had Steve's back in every fight and skirmish and had stood by his side when Steve's ma had died (Bucky still felt Sarah Rogers' loss, too – she was like a second mother in addition to being the nicest person he'd ever met). And sure, he'd helped to cheer Steve up through every broken heart he'd ever gotten no thanks to short-sighted dames who couldn't see what a stand-up fella Steve really was, but that was the thing about Steve. Even after all they'd been through together, Steve still found new ways to do the damnedest things that had Bucky shaking his head and wondering if maybe he'd been punched too many times. Like a boxer who'd been knocked out once too often. It would explain a lot.

Especially with the way Steve had been acting the past couple of weeks. All silent and withdrawn and defensive, like he was trying to push Bucky away or keep something from him or something. Which was ridiculous – they hadn't had a secret from each other from day one of their friendship. 

Alright, not _strictly_ true, but Bucky's less-than-brotherly feelings for Steve as of late weren't exactly a secret so much as it was Bucky trying to figure the right time to bring them up in conversation. Even if Steve didn't feel the same in return, Bucky knew their friendship would survive and still be rock solid. Bucky wouldn't be the first fella they knew with queer-ish feelings for another man. Practically their whole neighborhood was filled with guys and dames who were bent in some fashion or another. Sometimes Bucky wondered if it was something in the water.

But today sure as shit wasn't gonna be the day that Bucky spilled his guts about how he felt and all the things he wanted to do to Steve. Not if the thunderclouds behind Steve's ocean-blue eyes were any indication. He'd been in a rotten mood ever since they both met up on the walk home from work, banging pots while heating up leftover stew for dinner and snapping every time Bucky so much as glanced his way. Finally, Bucky'd given up and retreated behind the paper.

Whatever bug crawled up Steve's ass, Bucky wasn't gonna make it worse by asking about it. Especially since he knew full well that Steve was too damn stubborn to ask for help with whatever it was. The chip that rested on those lean shoulders was easily as big as he was, if not bigger.

But the habits of a lifetime died hard, and when Bucky got to the sports section, he clean forgot he was supposed to be keeping his distance from Steve and his foul mood. Besides, baseball news was a sacred thing, right in line with going to church on Sunday and not sassing his folks. And Steve should probably hear the bad news from a friend instead of in black and white in the Eagle.

"The Dodgers traded Al Todd, can you believe that."

Steve was still frowning like he'd been all evening, but it didn't seem as fearsome as earlier. "Not like it's a big loss," he replied, gathering the dirty dishes as he got to his feet. "We only had him the one year. Where's he going?"

"Paper says the Cubs. We're getting Mancuso and Kimball."

"Blackie's coming to Brooklyn?" Steve let out a low whistle. "Sounds like a good trade from where I'm sitting."

"Yeah, I guess," Bucky conceded. "But I liked how Al worked with the pitchers."

"Things change. They always do."

Bucky thought maybe there was something he was supposed to be getting from Steve's comment or he was supposed to be gleaning some hidden meaning from it, but then again, maybe he'd been reading too many stories in _Weird Tales_. A body was bound to see conspiracies everywhere. He and Steve were fine. Well, as fine as they were gonna get, considering Steve's rotten mood and his own secret and all.

"Really, you don't say," he finally said, in his most bland voice.

Steve cuffed the back of Bucky's head in a careless swipe. "Don't be a wiseass, you know what I mean. Sometimes, I swear, you live to be contrary."

Bucky snorted. "That's rich, coming from the very model of cussedness. You could put a mule to shame." 

"The only ass in this room is you, Buck."

Bucky bit back the instinctive response about what he'd like to do to Steve's ass (Steve definitely wasn't ready for that particular conversation), and shifted, hoping like hell Steve wouldn't see how excited certain parts of his anatomy were getting. It didn't help that Steve was still wearing his work slacks, the ones that fit him like a glove and showed off said very nice, perfectly curved ass to perfection. 

He cleared a cotton-dry throat and tried to focus on something else. "So, uh, you up for going out tonight and hitting one of the uptown joints, seeing if we could rustle up a coupla dance partners?"

Steve shrugged, way too nonchalant. "Sure. If you think you can find anyone who'd even give me the time of day."

Bucky _hated_ that tone and the simmering anger that was the root of it. Anyone who couldn't _see_ Steve beyond the skinny exterior and the health issues was blind as a bat in all the ways that really counted. "C'mon, Steve, you're a swell guy. Don't be so down on yourself."

"I _know_ I'm a swell guy. But it's not my opinion that counts, is it."

"Sure it is. Any dame that can't see what you're worth isn't worth your time, you know that."

"Easy for you to say," Steve scoffed. "You got girls coming out of the woodwork to get a piece of you."

Steve would never outgrow the chip on his shoulder, alright, no matter what anyone said to him, but that anger was rarely directed Bucky's way. And especially over something so trivial. They both knew that there wasn't a girl out there who could come between them. Friends 'til the end, and that was that.

"You wanna tell me what's gotten into you?" he finally asked, setting the paper on the table.

"Maybe we should just forget about it."

"Forget about what, what are you talking about?"

All of the blood in Steve's face seemed to drain away. "Nothing, I said forget it, alright," he mumbled.

Bucky's chair scraped across the cracked linoleum floor when he stood. He didn't often use his height to loom over Steve, but it wasn't often he _needed_ to. "Yeah, not happening, pal, try again."

"Fine." Steve shoved with all his meager might, and managed to knock a surprised Bucky back a couple of steps. "It's your goddamn fault."

His fault? What in God's name was Steve talking about? "What is?" he asked aloud, hoping like hell Steve wouldn't just clam up like he'd been doing lately.

"You." Steve gestured at Bucky. His eyes seemed much too large for that rawboned and far too pretty face. "Every stupid fucking thing about you. And I can't..." His voice trembled, his breath hiccupped. "I _can't_ lose you."

"What the hell?" Fuck caution and trying to play like he wasn't worried sick something was really wrong. It wasn't who they were, not at the core. Bucky wrapped strong arms around Steve's shaking shoulders, held him close. "You're never gonna lose me, what the hell kinda crazy talk is that?"

"I would if you knew what I was thinking." The words were muffled by Bucky's shirt.

"Bet you a dollar." He refused to think about how good – how _right_ – Steve felt in his arms. How well they seemed to slot together.

"You don't have a dollar."

At least Steve still hadn't lost his cheek. "And you call _me_ a wiseass."

"I learned it all from you," Steve replied, still muffled, like he was afraid to lift his head. Which wasn't right at all. Steve wasn't afraid of anyone or anything, never had been.

"Pretty sure you didn't need any of my help in that regard. You had a mouth on you when we met," Bucky said. "Now you gonna tell me what's wrong or am I gonna have to tickle it out of you?"

He hoped the threat would be enough to get Steve to talk, because he wasn't sure he could control himself if he actually laid hands on Steve.

Wet lashes lifted, the length of them making his eyes look even bigger, then Steve twisted so they were facing each other and Steve's lips were on his own, firm and quick and dry. "How about now?"

 _Finally._ Leave it to Steve to beat him to the punch and make the first move. He'd always been the more courageous of the two of them. 

It took Bucky a few precious seconds to find his voice, and when he finally did, he wasn't surprised that it warbled a little bit. "I think if that's all you got for moves, then no wonder you were in such a poor mood. I thought I taught you to be smoother than that."

Steve blinked, slow and confused. "What?"

In answer, Bucky held tight to Steve's hips. "C'mon, Rogers, you really think I was gonna call you out for wanting the same thing I've been wanting since we hit puberty?"

Now, Steve's eyes widened. A pink tongue flashed as he swiped it across his lower lip. Bucky wanted nothing more than to lean in and capture it. "Since puberty?" 

Bucky nodded, giddy with relief. "Ever since I was old enough to know what it meant that I got hard every time you bent over in front of me."

Steve's voice trembled. "But I look... I mean, I don't exactly look like the life models in our art classes."

"Yeah, you're on the slim side, so what? You think I care about something like that?" Bucky lifted one hand to tap right over Steve's big, stupid heart. "You got enough light in you to power a city block and that's what's important. You know that." And if he didn't – or if he forgot – Bucky would be happy to remind him as many times as it took. No matter what else Bucky did with his life, he knew the impulsive decision he'd made as a kid to become Steve's friend would always be the best thing that would ever happen to him.

"But...you always go with girls."

"So do you," Bucky pointed out. "I don't think there's any sort of rule that says I can't go with girls and still want you. And even if there was, you know me. I don't care too much for rules, especially not when they're dumb."

Those full lips tilted at the corners. "You think all rules are dumb."

"Well, most of 'em are. Especially ones that say that I can't admire the look of a dame in a cashmere sweater and still want to kiss you until your ears turn as red as your cheeks."

And, as regular as the trains that rumbled past their apartment building, that self-same blush appeared on Steve's face in vivid splotches of pink. It was a good look on him. "You always were greedy, Barnes."

"Yeah, right back atcha, Rogers."

"You're really not...I mean, you really want...?"

Jeez Louise, they'd go around in circles all night long at this rate. Bucky grabbed one of Steve's hands, placed it over his crotch. "That answer your question?"

Steve bobbed his head rabbit-quick. "Buck..."

"I want this," Bucky assured him, and leaned in, captured Steve's lips in a slow, smoldering kiss that he hoped would just be the start of many more to come. He wasn't even ashamed that his voice was hoarse when he lifted his head. "That the kiss of a man who doesn't want whatever it is you're offerin'?"

Steve shook his head, his eyes as round as saucers. Bucky could feel the rapid beat of Steve's pulse under his fingers. "If that's how you kiss everyone, it's no wonder you're so popular with the dames."

"You're not so bad yourself." Which was just about the understatement of the decade. Steve kissed like he did everything else – with total concentration and a determination that was about as sexy as all get out.

Steve licked his lips again. Bucky tried – and failed – to not stare like he was a starving man at a buffet. "You wanna, uh... I mean, only if you want to, I'm not aimin' to pressure you or anything –"

"Out with it, before you have a coronary here in the kitchen," Bucky said, then pulled back, searching Steve's face. "Wait, you're not feeling light-headed or anything, right?"

Steve threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, I pass out one time and you go all mother hen on me."

"One time, my ass. Or are you forgetting about last month..."

"You're never letting me live that down, are you?"

"Not a chance," Bucky said, and pulled Steve back to him. "Now what was it you wanted to ask?"

Steve's adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Well, now that you've killed the mood..."

" _Steve_..."

"I was just wonderin' if you maybe wanna do a little foolin' around, that's all."

Did he want to...? Bucky knew he was staring, but Steve had it coming. "Seriously, out of all the dumb questions you've ever asked me, that one has to be the dumbest."

Steve just looped his arms around Bucky's neck and dragged Bucky down to his level. "Is that a yes or –?"

"You're lucky I'm crazy about you," Bucky replied, and graciously allowed Steve to shut him up.

They stumbled out of the kitchen, lips fused together, and down the short hallway to the tiny bedroom they shared. Steve's bed was the closest to the door, so that's where Bucky aimed himself, twisting at the last minute so he was the one who landed on his back, with Steve sprawled across him.

"You okay?" Steve asked, lifting his head.

"Yeah, but don't go moving your knee any higher or I won't be."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Steve rearranged himself a little better, and Bucky took the time to finally get his hands on Steve's ass. Which was perfect and firm and felt better than any of Bucky's dreams. They were gonna have to lose some clothes soon, but he was pretty content for the moment to just trade wet, drugging kisses and grind their hips together like they were just a couple of kids necking on the sofa after a date.

He let Steve set the pace, content to follow along the path Steve was blazing, lifted his arms obediently when Steve started shoving at his t-shirt to get it off of him. But when he went to help Steve get rid of his shirt, Steve pulled back.

"I'm good."

"You cold or something?" Bucky asked, running his hands up and down Steve's arms. He felt plenty warm enough, but he knew how Steve got sometimes.

"No, I just..." Steve sighed and brushed an impatient hand through his hair. "Never mind, it's dumb."

Bucky thought he had a pretty good idea what Steve's objections were, but he wasn't about to start another argument about how much he didn't care that Steve wasn't some sort of physical Adonis. So he just grinned his most wicked, wayward grin and stretched, preening a little when Steve's hungry gaze tracked the movement. "What's dumb is you still wearing clothes when we could be naked getting each other off."

"Well, when you put it like that..." Steve pulled off his shirt, baring a set of shoulders and a chest that maybe weren't anything like any of the screen idols or paintings Steve admired so much, but were nevertheless beautiful to Bucky's eyes.

"Much better," he said, sure he looked like the biggest sap on the planet with how hard he was smiling, but he didn't care. Not when he had soft, freckled, porcelain-pale skin to touch, and not when he could put his lips right over Steve's heart and feel the steady beat of it thrum through him like a current. And especially not when Steve's natural curiosity finally got the better of him and he started exploring Bucky's body with nimble fingers and silky smooth lips.

"Is this okay?" Steve asked, much later on, when they'd both managed to shuck the rest of their clothes and Steve was trying his damnedest to send Bucky into an early grave via the world's slowest tease of a handjob.

He choked out a moan, dragged his own fist up the hard length of Steve's cock. "Fishing for compliments already?"

"Just making sure you're having a good time."

"Because it's not obvious or anything, I guess," he laughed, breathless and fond, and leaned in to get his mouth on Steve's again. As long as Bucky lived, he knew he'd crave Steve's taste. Now that he'd gotten a sample, there was no turning back, not now, not ever.

"Maybe I need a reminder," Steve gasped, when they both came up for air. 

"Less talk, more friction," Bucky groaned, and redoubled his efforts. Thankfully, Steve took the hint, and the next few minutes passed in a pleasurable haze of more kisses and both of them bringing the other off with their hands. It was everything Bucky'd dreamed, better even, far more than he'd ever deserve, and something he knew he'd want again just as soon as he could convince his spent cock to get back with the program.

"Not bad for a first time," he chuckled, nuzzling the soft skin at Steve's throat.

He felt, more than heard, Steve's huff of laughter. "Yeah, imagine how much better we'll get with practice."

Bucky leaned in for a kiss, then swung off the bed to head to the tiny bathroom to wet a washcloth. "I can't wait."

Steve's voice drifted in, disembodied, but clear enough. "Still finding that hard to believe."

Bucky returned to the bed, started wiping at the worst of the mess on Steve's stomach. Took the time to look him over, look his fill, cement this moment somewhere deep inside himself where he'd never lose it. "There's nothing in the world I won't give you, you know that, right."

Steve just watched him with those too blue eyes, his lips all red and swollen from Bucky's own, and his body looking pleasantly flushed for a change, instead of from a fever. "Yeah, I know, but –"

"No buts," Bucky interrupted, and swiped the rag across his own stomach. "We gotta be careful, sure, but I ain't ashamed of you or _anything_ we do together, no matter what it is. And I never will be." 

Steve bit his lip, but nodded, quick and sharp. "Okay."

"Good." Bucky crawled back on the bed and dripped his head to get at Steve's lips again. To hell with going out tonight. Everything he wanted was right here in his arms.

 

   
3\. _"Ocean pulls me close and whispers in my ear_  
_The destiny I've chose all becoming clear"_

 

One of the nicer perks of being the face of the European Theatre of World War II meant that Steve had a lot of leeway in deciding which missions he and his team went on, and the strategy of said missions. Colonel Phillips might still be his de facto commanding officer, but he mostly let Peggy stand in as liaison on the ground and on the front lines, which meant Steve and the rest of the Commandos (Peggy most assuredly included) could concentrate on the more practical matters of the job at hand. 

Which didn't mean that Steve still didn't have pushback from _certain_ people about his methods and schemes. And by certain people, he meant one in particular.

"If this is your idea of a joke, it's not fucking funny," Bucky said, widening his stance and crossing his arms like he was preparing himself for a fight. He'd put a little of the weight back on he'd lost during his incarceration with Hydra, but it was all muscle, and the way he moved now was different than it used to be - slow and purposeful. Deliberate. Steve tried not to think too hard about how much he liked it.

"I'm not joking," Steve said, and looked back at the map he and the rest of the Commandos were studying. The shack they were using as HQ for this mission wasn't all that big, but they'd been in tighter quarters than this.

"You better be, because no fucking way am I letting you march into that base all by yourself without any backup."

"Buck, c'mon, I'll have –"

"If you even mention the goddamn shield, I'll toss it in the fucking river. You're not going in alone," Bucky stated. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, forearms glistening with sweat, and his hair was disheveled from where he'd been raking his hands through it, but the aura of command and arrogance was still every bit present.

"Told you he wouldn't go for it," Jones said, rocking back on his heels.

"I'm the only one who can," Steve argued, because someone had to be the voice of reason, and God knew Bucky was never going to be that person.

"Yeah, if we follow your plan, which we're not, so shut up."

"Look, Buck –"

"If I have to tell Monty to get Peggy on the horn right now to talk some damn sense into you, I will, so don't make me."

Falsworth startled, then frowned. "I'd rather _not_ be dragged into the middle of this tête-à-tête, if you don't mind."

"That's a low blow." Steve knew introducing Bucky and Peggy to each other was just asking for trouble. Especially since they seemed to get on like a house on fire and conspired with each other far too much for his peace of mind. Sure, he loved that his best gal and his best friend had taken to each other like ducks to water, but they agreed with each other far too much. 

That's what he got for falling for two people who were far too much alike and far too convinced they knew the right way of things, he supposed. Not that he'd have either of them any other way.

"Yeah, well, that's what you get when you're an idiot," Bucky replied, with a mulish look on his face that Steve knew all-too well. He _hated_ that look when it was focused his way.

"You two're more entertaining than Myrna Loy and William Powell," Dugan declared, with a fond look for both of them.

"Which one of 'em's Myrna?" Morita asked, with a grin.

"Me, obviously," Bucky said, with a _c'mon_ gesture. "Can any of you imagine Steve in a pencil skirt?"

"I can now," Falsworth said, darkly. "It's not an image I'm entirely comfortable with having, either."

For a second, Steve forgot to be annoyed. "Hey, I've got nice legs these days. You shoulda seen 'em before the serum." Bucky and Peggy could both argue 'til the cows came home about how he'd been perfect before Project Rebirth, but he'd been a toothpick back then. Nothing at all to write home about. (Don't get him wrong, he was happy they both loved him before the new body, but there was no denying said new body definitely had its perks.)

"Well, they're not as nice as Agent Carter's, but they're alright," Jones conceded.

"I'm not sure anyone's gams are as nice as hers," Dernier said.

Dugan pushed his hat up his forehead. "I dunno, Frenchy, Betty Grable's got a set on her that could make an atheist believe in religion."

"Betty Grable's legs are a much more pleasant image," Falsworth agreed.

"I don't care if your legs are nicer than Esther Williams', I'm still not letting you bust in all hot like the serum made you bulletproof instead of just bigger," Bucky said to Steve.

"You saying you doubt my abilities to do what needs to be done?" Steve asked.

"Hey, pal, if you're fishing for compliments on your skills, the ocean's that way." Bucky pointed west for emphasis. "I ain't here to kiss your ass."

There were days when Steve wondered how he and Bucky'd even survived twenty-odd years of friendship without killing each other. "What's the point of having my best pal around if he won't back my play?"

Bucky didn't look remotely impressed or at all fazed. "The _point_ is to have someone willing to tell you you're a dumbass to your face when you're about to do something dumber than usual. Which this is."

"Soon as we get stateside, I'm replacing you with someone who won't argue with me all the damn time."

"Yeah, like you'd even know what to do with anyone who didn't," Bucky scoffed. "'Sides, if you did try to replace me, I'll make you be the one to tell Becca."

If there was one person alive Steve had a healthy fear of – other than Peggy, which probably said something about him he wasn't entirely comfortable admitting – it was Bucky's spitfire older sister. "That's not even playing fair."

"There's nothing fair about love and war, Steve, I thought I taught you better than that," Bucky replied, and clapped him on the back, the touch only slightly lingering. Steve was pretty sure everyone already knew about the two of them, but they were still careful not to flaunt anything. And it wasn't like they had that much in the way of time or privacy anyway. "So, you ready to see reason or what?"

"As pleasantly diverting as the two of you are to watch, I think it'd be best if we came in through the north, using the river bank as camouflage," Falsworth said, pointing at the map.

Bucky nodded and tapped another spot to the west. "Yeah, if we get Jacques and Gabe to wire something together for us, I can take point here on this ridge, provide cover..."

"You're way too exposed up there," Steve argued. "You'd be below the tree line."

"I think me and Jim can provide enough of a distraction so they won't be able to pinpoint his exact location," Dugan said. 

"And what would I be doing, exactly?" Steve asked.

"What you always do, I expect," Morita replied. "Punching out the bad guys and keeping everyone occupied while Jacques and Gabe grab the docs and wire the place to blow."

"Face it, Steve, you're the U.S. government's most expensive decoy," Bucky grinned.

"And to think, you gave up a cush job bench-pressing jeeps and holding up USO girls to come slum in the mud with the rest of us grunts," Dugan said.

"Which makes him certifiable, if you ask me," Jones added.

"It really wasn't that glamorous."

Dernier shrugged. "Better than getting shot at, no?"

"Most things are, I've found."

"Still, I wonder at the rest of us that we're following a guy around who didn't have the good sense to stay stateside surrounded by beautiful women in skimpy outfits," Dugan said.

"I've been questioning my sanity every day since I signed up to fight," Morita said.

"Quite," Falsworth chimed in. "I, for one, can't imagine what any of us were thinking."

Dernier gave an insouciant shrug. "None of us wanted to learn to speak German?"

"Yeah, good point," Dugan nodded.

"Unfortunately for me, I know _exactly_ what I was thinking throwing my hat in with you guys," Bucky said, jerking a thumb at Steve. "If I hadn't stuck around to watch his back, who knows what kinda trouble he'd have gotten himself into."

They were all keeping things light and loose, but Steve could hear the weariness and strain in every word. He couldn't do much about forcing the Germans or Japanese to surrender early so they could all go home and get back to their lives, but he could do something to give his men a bit of a break. "Soon as we're done with this mission, I'll go to Phillips personally to get us some real R&R, okay. I can't promise girls, but I can promise dry beds and running water."

"Sounds like paradise," Dernier said, with a small smile.

"Shit, with incentive like that, I think we could end the war ourselves," Bucky said, and straightened. "So, let's get to fine-tuning this plan so we can get to it."

Steve knew when he was outvoted and outgunned. But he'd be damned if he'd give Bucky the satisfaction of saying so. So he just shrugged and gestured at the map. "You heard the Sergeant."

***

"Steve...Jesus _fuck_...so good..."

Steve pulled his mouth off of Bucky's dick with a wet pop and sighed. "Am I gonna have to gag you to keep you quiet?"

Bright blue eyes, hazy with want, blinked down at him. "Didn't realize you were into that kinda thing," Bucky said, his voice a rough, low wreck that shot through Steve's system like a bullet firing. "What kinda things is Carter teaching you?"

"You really wanna talk about Peggy right now?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"No, I _want_ you to go back to what you were doing."

"Then keep it down, alright. Just 'cause everyone's on the other side of the camp doesn't mean they won't hear us." Truth be told, Steve got off on it when Bucky lost himself and started spouting whatever nonsense came in his head, whether it was encouragement or curses or what he was going to do to Steve after, but they had to be extra careful these days. Maybe the Commandos didn't care what they got up to within the thin walls of their shared tent, but the rest of the Army cared a great deal, and not even Steve's status as Captain America would do much to shield either of them from repercussion if the exact nature of their relationship came to light.

"I promise, just get on with – mmppphh." Bucky shoved his fist in his mouth to muffle the groan as Steve went right back to work, took Bucky's cock as deep as he could without gagging. He wanted to draw this out, make Bucky really earn it, but they didn't have that kind of time these days. As soon as they got some leave, though, all bets were off. Steve was tying Bucky to the bed and not letting him move until he'd had his fill.

As it stood, Bucky was so revved up that it didn't take him too long to come, and Steve savored the bitter-hot taste coating his tongue just as much as the way Bucky was tugging at his hair towards the end. He was utterly fucking gorgeous like this, with his shirt rucked up to his chest and his pants and boxers shoved down his hips. He had the loose-limbed look of a man who'd just gotten well-laid. The perfect picture of debauched and sated, every gorgeous inch of him all Steve's to do as he pleased. Steve didn't mind admitting to himself that was by far his favorite look.

When he finally loosened his hold on Bucky's hips, he was immediately pulled up and flipped on his back with Bucky looming over him. "Hand or mouth?" Bucky asked, nimbly unbuttoning Steve's fly with one hand.

"Hand," he said, even though he really wanted the wet heat of Bucky's lips around him. But he was even louder than Bucky when he was getting his dick sucked, and at least with a handjob, Bucky could kiss him and swallow any moans he might make.

The air in the tent was humid, sticky, the sort of stagnant that meant another sweltering summer was on the way. Sweat beaded along Bucky's neck and forehead, settled in the crease of Steve's thigh, and sleep wouldn't come too easy tonight, but here and now, none of that mattered. There was only Bucky's fist stroking him nice and steady and Bucky's tongue in his mouth, sweet and hot and just this side of too much. 

It was only after he was basking in the lassitude of a really great orgasm, with Bucky plastered to his side, both of them far too overheated to even think about moving yet, that he found himself thinking about the earlier argument.

"You were pretty hard on me out there today in front of the fellas."

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh and lifted his head. "Your idea of afterglow leaves a lot to be desired." 

"Sorry, it just popped in my head." He shifted, trying in vain to find a comfortable position on the hard ground. He was convinced that France was full of rocks. "Forget I mentioned it."

"Nah, it's fine. I call 'em like I see 'em, you know that." Bucky propped his chin on Steve's chest, his gaze sharp as always, missing nothing. "What's this about? We argue all the time."

"I know." It was just how they operated, as far back as Steve could remember. "But, I guess...you don't think the others think less of me as a leader because I let you get away with it?"

Bucky made a low scoffing noise. "First off, you aren't _letting_ me get away with anything. Serum or no serum, we both know neither of us has the upper hand on the other. Second, you wouldn't know how to communicate with anyone who wasn't forcing you to look at everything from all sides. I mean, look at how you and Peggy argue when you're planning missions together and she outranks all of us. You've spent your whole life questioning authority. You may as well have it tattooed on you somewhere."

"Not too sure a tattoo would stick on me these days," Steve said, with a small smile. "Besides, I really don't think the big brass would think that's as funny as we do."

"Who's laughing?" Bucky scooted up to cup Steve's jaw, his thumb lazily running across Steve's lower lip. "You may only be a weapon to them, but you're so much more than that to the rest of us. The other fellas follow you because you're a stand up guy doing the right thing and you saved all their asses and you don't ask any of us to do anything you wouldn't do yourself."

"What about you?" Steve asked quietly. His skin pebbled, despite the warmth.

Bucky's gaze softened as he leaned in for a quick kiss. "We both know I'm just following you around to stare at your ass."

"Yours is better." Some would argue that Steve was biased, but truth was truth, and Bucky's ass was one of the seven wonders of the modern world, no lie.

"Well, sure it is, but it's not like I can stare at my own ass," Bucky said, with a playful grin. "Now what's this all about?"

"Hell if I know. It's just..." He placed a kiss to Bucky's palm, then the pulse at his wrist. Let the steady rhythm slow his thoughts like always. "I didn't save everyone that night at the Hydra base out of some greater good. I was only there because you were there. That's as selfish as it gets."

"Selfish would have been you only saving me and saying to hell with freeing the other prisoners," Bucky replied. "But you didn't. You got everyone else out first, _then_ came for me. Doesn't matter why you were at that base, just that you did the right thing once you were."

"You make it sound better than it was." All Steve had known was that his world didn't rotate without Bucky there to act as an axis. And that it had felt damn good to be the one rescuing Bucky for a change, instead of the other way around.

"I was there too, remember. And I know you. Even if I hadn't made it out of there, you'd have still done the right thing."

"If you say so."

"I do." Bucky leaned in for another kiss, then twisted back in Steve's arms. "Now we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and _some_ of us can't just run on two hours of sleep a night."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said, smiling as he held Bucky close, sticky heat be damned. "Get some shuteye."

"Night, Captain."

"Night, Sergeant."

 

   
4\. _"Broken bruised forgotten sore_  
_Too fucked up to care anymore"_

 

It was peaceful out here in the Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest. Quiet. Out of the way enough that any disturbance would be felt, but not so isolated that he'd have problems if he needed to make a quick getaway. And still in the States, so he could work on rediscovering and perfecting his American accent. He was getting better, but sometimes he still thought in Russian. Part of him was pretty sure he always would.

The leaves crunched under his cross-trainers as he turned to head further into the forest, every breath steady and calm, every movement matching it, his body working in perfect, seamless harmony. The runs did more than simply offer exercise or a way to center himself – they were an effective way of patrolling the area, of making sure he hadn't been compromised. Every sense became heightened, every potential threat assessed with every footfall, every sound catalogued to make sure it belonged.

So when he saw Natasha Romanov calmly sitting on his front porch, he wasn't exactly surprised. Which meant he didn't go for either the gun at his back or the knife at his ankle. It helped that she was keeping her hands in plain sight.

"I'd expected to have more of a challenge finding you," she said, by way of greeting.

"I wasn't trying to hide." He grabbed the towel on the railing, used it to clean the sweat from his arm and face and neck. It could also be used as a weapon, if needed. But he hoped he wouldn't have to. He had enough blood on his hands without adding anyone else to that very long list. "And if you've come to warn me that Hydra agents are looking for me, don't bother."

She slowly uncrossed her legs, telegraphing every moment. Cool green eyes assessed him. "I'm not worried at all about what you'll do to Hydra if and when they find you. I'm more worried about what you're going to do to Steve when he gets here."

It figured this was about Rogers. He'd known Steve would eventually find him again. But then, it wasn't like he was doing the world's best job at hiding, either. If he truly hadn't wanted to be found, he'd have left the U.S., first off, and second, he wouldn't have rented a cabin under his sister's married name. It still hurt to think that Becca had gotten married and had kids of her own and grandkids to dote on, had grown old and died without him or Steve around for any of it. Out of all the things Hydra had stolen from him, that loss still hurt the worst.

So, no, it wasn't a shock that Steve was still on his trail, no matter how dangerous it might be or how many times Bucky had already told him to fuck off. Because sure as taxes and the sun rising in the east, he could pretty much set his watch by Steve doing something stupid and stubborn that was gonna get him in trouble.

"How long've I got?"

"A couple of hours," she answered. "Do you need them?"

"No." It was time they finally talked face to face. It might be the only thing that could convince Steve he was on the wrong path for the wrong reason. " _Spasibo za preduprezhdeniye._ "

" _Nye rubi s plecha, poprobuy ponyat' yego._ "

"Yeah, gentle ain't so much my style," Bucky replied, easily switching back to English. "Steve's neither."

Her smile was quick and sardonic. "You're not wrong there."

There was a history there between Natasha and Steve, Bucky would bet money on it. Once, under different circumstances, back when he'd been a different man, he'd have sat down with her over a drink or two and hit her up for every detail. Steve always did have a weak spot for strong women.

He took a quick shower after she left, and put on a pair of jeans and a tank top so Steve would have no choice but to see the scars and the metal arm. If Steve thought, even for a minute, that chasing Bucky all over the planet would result in things going back the way they used to be, he had another thing coming.

Nothing was the same. And maybe they both needed this to clear the air, to move on with the rest of their lives, such as they were. 

He was toxic, the worst sort of venom. Unfit to even be in Steve's presence, and it wasn't like Steve didn't know that. Yet, he'd come anyway. One of these days, Steve's stubbornness was going to get him killed. Bucky just hoped it wouldn't be by his hands. _дебил хренофф._

Bucky yanked open the front door when he heard the knock, but blocked the entrance with his body. As expected, Steve was standing on the top step, in jeans and a too-tight t-shirt, looking every inch the perfect specimen of manhood. But all Bucky could see was the tenacious little guy he'd grown up with who didn't know how to take no for an answer. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

The corners of Steve's lips, still too full and red and perfect, lifted in an all-too familiar smirk. "And here I was told all those experiments Hydra did on you were supposed to've made you smarter."

The retort was out before he could even think about it. "Yeah, you're a real fucking comedian. Guess the ice didn't cure your terrible sense of humor."

"You love my bad jokes. Or, you used to," Steve replied, and gestured at the door. "Now, are you gonna invite me in or are we gonna do this on your porch?"

Bucky didn't move. "You shouldn't have come."

"You said that in Minsk. And Katmandu. And Buenos Aires."

"Nothing's changed since then, either."

Steve shifted closer, taking up far too much space already, just like he always did, no matter what body he was wearing. "You haven't slammed the door on my face yet. That's new."

"Fine." Bucky turned a perfect 180 and marched into the sparsely furnished living room, and waited for Steve to shut the door behind him and join him. "State your piece and go."

"You really are going to make this hard, aren't you?"

"You came to me, pal, not the other way around," Bucky replied, with a shrug. "Where's your friend? The one who's been keeping you company while you've been chasing after me the last few months."

"Sam's sitting this trip out." 

"Not a smart move on your part, coming here without backup."

"You're not gonna hurt me."

"You don't know that," Bucky snapped, irritated at Steve's blind insistence in Bucky's better nature. He didn't have one anymore. He'd been groomed to be a perfect, emotionless killing machine, had done it with ruthless efficiency for far more decades than he'd ever spent as Steve's best friend and second in command. Steve was insane if he thought there wouldn't be any sort of blowback from it.

Steve gestured at him. "I know you probably have at least fifteen different ways you could take me down or kill me right now –"

"– Eighteen, and that's just off the top of my head –"

"– I don't care if it's twenty, just because you know them doesn't mean you're going to try any of them on me," Steve replied, far too maddeningly calm. "Besides, maybe I know just as many ways to take you out."

Not _nearly_ enough ways, Bucky thought. Especially since he knew Steve wouldn't use any fatal moves. "Did you come here to compare lists or something?"

"No, I came to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about." No matter how much Bucky wanted – well, it didn't matter what he wanted. He was way too far gone and had way too much blood on his hands to be saved.

Steve swallowed, and the look on his face turned small and unsure and so unlike anything Bucky could remember (and, admittedly, his memories were still spotty at best) about Steve. "Ten minutes. That's all I'm asking."

Steve asking instead of demanding? This wasn't right. The Steve Bucky _did_ remember had never known _how_ to ask for anything – even during sex when Bucky'd had him all laid out on the bed and was driving him to the brink over and over with his mouth and hands, he'd demanded and ordered and promised retribution if he thought things were moving too slow. Bucky wondered what Steve was playing at, because this had to be an act. "Then you wasted a trip. Talking won't do anyone any good. It won't change anything or bring anyone back or change what I did."

"How much do you remember?" Steve asked.

Every dying scream, every kill, every bit of destruction and mayhem. The face of every person who'd fallen by his hands. "Too much," he finally answered. "Way too damn much."

Steve wandered around the living room, gaze flickering to everything and nothing. He had this graceful way of moving that drew the eye and kept it, but then, even when he'd been a lot shorter and a lot more unassuming, he'd loomed larger than life to Bucky. "I didn't mean...I mean, before. Do you remember anything from back then or –?"

What was Steve getting at? "I remember you, if that's what you're asking. I remember us."

"Oh, well, that's...that's good."

Something was still off, but Bucky couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Once, they'd be so fluent in each other that it was second nature, something neither of them'd had to think about. But now? Bucky wasn't sure if they'd ever get that back, or if that was just something else that Zola and Hydra and Pierce had taken from him, along with everything else. But even as rusty as he was these days where Steve was concerned, there were some things no amount of brainwashing could make him forget.

"Is that why you're here? To see if the old spark was still there now that I'm not one of the good guys anymore?" Bucky asked, and stalked towards Steve on light feet. "If you've been coming after me for some rough sex, you could have just said so in the first place, saved us a lot of trouble."

And maybe a quick fuck would clear the air or clear their heads or cut through this strange friction that he still couldn't quite place.

He grabbed the back of Steve's neck, brought their lips together, the kiss hot and hungry. At once, Bucky was flooded with too many memories of too many kisses to count – of Steve in his arms, under him, over him, before the serum and after, the way Steve looked when he came, the way his breath would hitch when he was mindless with want – every one unique and precious. Steve still tasted like summer, like hope and renewal and everything in the world that was still good and bright, but something was off about it. The bite and energy and _fire_ were all missing.

He tore away, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Steve was still standing there, unmoving, blond hair mussed and those too-blue eyes of his wide and pleading for something Bucky wasn't sure he knew how to give. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" he spit out, each word grating in his throat like glass. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

Steve looked flummoxed, like he'd never been kissed before, by Bucky or anyone else. It would have been laughable if Bucky wasn't so angry. "I...I don't..."

" _Govori, seychas zhe. Seychas zhe!_ "

Steve took a step forward and stumbled – a man who was never unsure about anything – before righting himself. "I don't know what you want from me here. Just tell me what you want."

What he wanted. Like anything could be so simple. Like it _mattered_ what he wanted. Like anything had mattered since the moment he'd fallen off that fucking train. "What I _want_ is for you to stop with this bullshit, okay. Just...enough. _Dostal uzhe._ " He made a move to shove past Steve, gain some precious distance between them. 

Steve grabbed his metal arm and held tight. " _Talk_ to me."

Finally. An honest reaction. A _Steve_ reaction. "You can stop." Bucky held Steve's gaze. He could take Steve out in less than four moves, and he knew they both were aware of it, but he kept still, stayed focused on the bigger picture. "I don't need your kid gloves and I sure as shit don't need you acting like this."

"Like what?"

"Like not you, alright." He growled out an exasperated breath. "All contrite and the picture of...whatever the hell kind of self-sacrificing bullshit this is." He made an abortive gesture with his free hand. "I may be a brainwashed wreck and a killer and I may never get all of the pieces of me back in any sort of shape, but I still know _you_." 

Steve frowned. "I don't think I get what you mean here."

"Meaning I don't need you showing up on my doorstep with your hat in your hand begging for scraps when you and I both know that's not what you chasing me all over the world and back has been about." 

The frown turned into a scowl. It was a much better look on him. "I didn't come here to beg for anything."

"Good," Bucky stated. "Because it wouldn't work."

The hold on his arm loosened. " _Tell_ me what you want, Buck, because I am really fucking lost right now."

Steve wasn't the only one. Nothing was making any sense. "Wrong question. Why are you here?"

"You know why," Steve said, in a low, calm voice that didn't sound familiar at all. _None_ of this was familiar. 

"Humor me," he said. " _Why_ are you here?"

"Because you're my best friend and –"

"Wrong answer." Bucky pivoted and drove Steve against the wall, used momentum and body mass to pin him there, and brought his metal forearm up to Steve's throat. "Tell me why you're here."

"Buck –"

He pushed against Steve's windpipe. "You answer wrong again and I'll crush your throat." He shoved up to prove his point, fury singing in his blood like a song he'd almost forgotten. "Tell. Me. Why. You're. Here."

"Fuck you." Steve all but spat the words out. Every muscle in his body was coiled, tensed, ready to lash out, to fight. His face was splotched with color, and irritation seemed to pour out of him in waves. He looked like Steve again. Beautiful and deadly and mad as hell.

" _Now_ we're getting somewhere." Bucky brought down his arm, took a small step back. "I was worried for a minute that the world had finally managed to beat it out of you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Steve demanded, temper deepening his voice. It sounded like music to Bucky's ears.

"Everyone else always thought they had a handle on what made you tick, but me and you, we always knew the score. And it wasn't your sense of fair play or your fucking moral code and it sure as shit wasn't that you had some pretty, chivalric notion of the world."

Steve's eyes flashed a darker blue, rage bubbling just under the surface of his skin despite how still he was holding himself. "And what is it that drives me?"

"Anger," Bucky said, because even if he'd forgotten every other single thing about Steve, he _knew_ that much. He knew Steve in his DNA, in his bones, and he'd always known what made Steve tick. "Anger at the injustices of the world, anger at everyone who thinks they're above the law or beyond consequence, anger that no one ever saw _you_ for who you are, and anger that no one still can see the real you behind the shield. Well, I do. _Ya tiebya vizhu._ I always saw you. And I always will."

"Buck –"

He clamped his hand over Steve's, flesh to flesh, bone to bone, grinding them together. "You don't gotta pretend with me. Not now, not ever. So stop trying."

"I will if you will."

"What do you mean?" He had to be bruising Steve's skin, but Steve didn't even flinch. 

"You weren't the only person who changed, so stop pretending that this is all about you," Steve said, and leaned in, the air between them thick with tension and far too much regret. "You weren't the only one who came back from the war damaged and lost and feeling like all the good parts of you bled out on French or German or Italian soil. And maybe you remember my anger, but I remember _you_. All of you, before, during, and after. So if we're gonna do this, then you can't bullshit me, either."

"And what is it we're doing here?"

"You think you're the only one who needs to pay penance? Whose hands are dirty? I've killed hundreds, Buck. _Thousands_ ," Steve said. "And maybe they were the enemy, but you can bet that _they_ didn't think they were. I've sent my own men to their deaths, sacrificed them for the greater good, but I'm not sure that's much comfort to their families or the people they left behind. I let _you_ fall. Your past - your blood – all the people you killed as the Winter Solider...that's on my hands too."

"Don't you dare put my sins on your back," Bucky growled. "I didn't ask for your guilt."

Steve made a small scoffing sound. "Well, the world doesn't need your pity party, either."

"Is that what you think this is?" 

Steve just looked at him like he had x-ray vision along with everything else, like he could see right through to the poisoned core of Bucky's black soul, everything he'd done, every person he'd hurt. "I think you've been holed up from the world trying to figure out who you want to be, and it's okay if you haven't figured it out yet. You may not be Bucky Barnes or Sergeant Barnes or The Winter Soldier or The Asset, but you're something better now. You're all of them. Or none. You're whoever you _choose_ to be."

Was this what Steve used to feel like during his asthma attacks when they were kids? Bucky's lungs felt way too small in his chest. "And who do you choose to be?" he managed to croak out of a clogged throat.

"Hopefully, if I'm lucky, a good man," Steve quietly replied. "Not perfect, but good."

Bucky licked dry lips. He was so very tired. "I don't know what I choose."

"It's okay." Steve dragged the backs of the fingers of his free hand along Bucky's cheek, the touch far too soft and far more than he deserved. "I don't mind waiting. I'll wait as long as it takes. Which is all I really came here to say."

Steve Rogers, content to wait. Now Bucky'd heard everything. "Yeah, because you're the epitome of patience."

"I could learn."

"You're still a terrible liar," Bucky said, and let out a short sigh. "You know, if you had any sense, you'd run as far away from me as those super-human legs of yours'll take you."

"Well, as you were always fond of saying, I never did have much sense," Steve said, with a rueful smile. "Especially not where you're concerned."

Bucky nodded once, short and jerky, and tried to slow the rapid beat of his heart. "You're damn right about that." More courage than a lion and more heart than ten men put together, but about as much sense as a suicidal lemming, that was Steve all over. No matter what century it was, it seemed some things would never change.

"Come home," Steve whispered, low and rough. "Whatever you need to do, whatever wrongs you need to right or sins you think you need to atone for or whatever...it doesn't matter. I'm with you. We'll face it, whatever it is. Together. Just like we always have."

"You have a chance for a new life, Steve. You sure you wanna hitch your star to my ride?" Which didn't sound right – he was remembering it wrong possibly – but he thought he'd gotten the point across all the same.

"Well, yeah," Steve said, like it was obvious, when it really wasn't. "I mean, I already have you trained. And like you said, I'm not patient enough to train anyone else."

"Trained, huh?" Bucky suppressed the chuckle. Same old Steve, alright. And it was that response – quick and sarcastic and as corny as it got, that finally convinced him. As long as Steve could still joke around with him and mean it, they had a chance. "As long as you're sure."

Steve quirked his lips in that small, sardonic half-smile that Bucky would know by heart no matter what year it was or how many times Hydra'd wiped his mind. "One thing I've always been sure of is you, Bucky Barnes."

"Same here," Bucky replied, and dragged Steve to him. This time, Steve kissed him back, and the zing of it, the energy and coiled power, zipped through him like a lightning storm. He wanted to take out every remnant of Hydra with his bare hands. He wanted to sink to his knees in relief. 

When they parted, Bucky bumped their foreheads together, sucked in a lungful of air. Finally, he could breathe again. "No matter what kind of man I am, I'll always choose you, you know that. Skinny loudmouth with more heart than sense."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"If you're expecting me to come back with you to kiss your ass, you can think again."

"Only in private," Steve smiled, and that was the look right there. The lowered lashes, lips barely curving, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth smirk that always got Bucky revved, no matter where they were or what they were doing. It was almost comforting to realize that his reaction to seeing it hadn't changed a bit since 1935.

"Now you're talking my language," Bucky said, and then went to his knees. They'd wasted enough time talking.

He'd managed to mostly unbutton the fly of Steve's jeans when Steve stopped him with little more than a light touch to his nape. When he looked up, Steve's face was mostly shadowed, but Bucky knew as surely as he knew how to break down and reassemble an AK-47 and how to make his mother's peach pie from scratch that Steve's face was flaming red.

"You...um...are you...you _really_ want to..."

Did he want to? Like Bucky'd ever had a choice where Steve was concerned. Like he'd ever _wanted_ one. "Are you honestly getting ready to try to talk me _out_ of sucking your cock right now?"

Steve's hands spasmed, hard and fast, on his shoulders. "That's not a fair question."

"Considering I'm the one on my knees getting ready to put my mouth on your dick, I think your idea of fair and mine aren't exactly lining up right now," Bucky replied, and tugged at Steve's jeans and the tighty-whiteys he was wearing under 'em. _Much_ better. He leaned in, breathed in as deep as he could, re-familiarized himself with Steve's scent, musk and sweat and sunshine, and felt every ounce of pressure along his spine bleed out. He was exactly where he needed to be. 

Something of what he was feeling must've shown somewhere, because Steve's touch softened. "Buck..."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's like riding a bike," Bucky said, and rubbed his cheek along the length of Steve's cock like a cat begging for attention. "I'll get the hang of it again in no time."

"I'm not worried about you – oh fuck," Steve moaned, and grabbed a handful of Bucky's hair.

As far as ways of getting Steve to shut the hell up went, this way was by far the most pleasant, and the most effective. And that hadn't changed since 1935, either.

 

   
5\. _"The farther I fall I'm beside you_  
_As lost as I get I will find you_  
_Forever and ever I am a part of you"_

 

Despite Stark's repeated efforts to get him and Bucky to, quote, move into the clubhouse with the other Mouseketeers, Steve wanted to make a life that didn't revolve around being Captain America or being part of the Avengers. It was one of the few things he and Bucky agreed on without even needing to discuss it. They'd bought a nice single-family house in Bay Ridge, with a garage big enough for them to restore old cars and bikes on their good days when their hands were steady and their minds clear, and with enough room for a gym on the bad ones when the only thing that helped keep the nightmares at bay was punching something. It wasn't the most ostentatious place compared to Stark's standards, but it was _theirs_ , every bit of it earned through blood and sweat and more sacrifices than either of them would care to admit.

They were slowly but surely creating routines that suited them and rediscovering the world and each other one slow, methodical day at a time. It was hard, pain-staking work, and patience had never been Steve's strong suit, but he was learning. For Bucky, he'd be as patient as it took.

Still, they did manage to get together with some of their teammates from time to time, whether at the Tower or a night out on the town, and that was good, too. As much as it had always been Steve and Bucky against the world when they were younger, Steve had to admit, he liked that they were part of a team that rivaled the Commandos in both skill-sets and experience. Even Bucky was learning to warm up to everyone else, though he tended to stay pretty quiet when they were around the larger group. 

Not that Steve blamed him. Getting a word in edgewise around Stark was sometimes a futile gesture.

So it was a mostly pleasant surprise when he came home from his coffee date with Sharon (even if she hadn't been related to Peggy, Steve still would have wanted to stay in touch and make sure the CIA was treating her alright and that she had everything she needed) and found Bucky hanging out in the living room with Clint and Natasha. Other than Sam, who Bucky'd more or less adopted as a brother, no one else had been invited to the house.

He had no doubts all three knew he was standing in the hallway watching them – in fact, he'd bet a large sum that all three had known when he'd turned his bike onto their street – but it still didn't stop him from hanging back for a minute to watch them. It was nice to see Bucky so relaxed, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, metal fingers curled delicately around the stem of a wine glass. He was still – would always be – the most beautiful sight Steve had ever seen.

"Plastic spoon at a military prison in Ashgabat," Natasha was saying, relaxing into the cushions behind her. 

"Crystal paper weight in the sitting room of an office in Tampere," Clint said, and grinned, wide and raffish.

Bucky hmphed like he was supremely disappointed in both of them. "Guitar pick backstage at a rock show in Volgograd."

"Really?" Clint picked up his bottle of beer and half-turned to Natasha. "That one's gonna be tough to beat."

"Tough for who to beat?" Steve asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him as he stepped into the spacious living area. Bucky turned his face up for a kiss, and Steve obliged, tasted bittersweet flavor of the wine on Bucky's tongue. But underneath it, he sought the metal and smoke bite that was all Bucky, and more addictive than any drug. A taste Steve knew he'd always need.

"Me and Nat and Barnes over here were comparing unusual kills," Clint said, when Steve lifted his head. "So far I've won two rounds, Nat has three, and Bucky's taking home the prize with five."

"Oh," Steve said, then frowned as he replayed the earlier conversation in his head. "Hold on, a guitar pick? How did you kill someone with a guitar pick?"

Bucky shrugged, and made a fist with his metal arm. "Well, it's pretty easy if you apply the right pressure to the trachea..."

"Your boyfriend is one scary dude." Clint sounded like a proud parent. "And I say that with the upmost respect."

"He was always pretty handy in a fight. Knew all kinds of tricks." Steve gave Bucky a small smile. "You tell 'em yet about the chicken in that barn outside Osmoy?"

Bucky frowned and shook his head. "Nat said nothing living as a weapon counted."

"What about in Prague when you killed that scientist using a rak –"

"How the fuck do you even _know_ about that?"

"I read your file," Steve replied. 

" _Iz vsego chto ty mog sdelat' glupogo..._ " Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "You read my file. Of _course_ you read my fucking file."

"I mean, I'm not saying I'm happy you were forced to use your ingenuity in the service of killing innocent people or anything, but you know me. I'm a sucker for a great skill set and you've always had one of the best."

"You are un-fucking-believable." The glare Bucky leveled at him would have sent a lesser man diving for cover. "How can you stand there and look me in the eyes and tell me that you're okay with everything I did?"

"That's what I loved about you from the very first. You were always sneaky." Sneaky and smart and Steve _still_ loved that about him, and always would. "I mean, just think about what we did to Gil Brown back when we were kids, or to Tommy Andrews or the McMurphy boys or –"

"We're a long ways off from schoolboy pranks, Steve."

"So you _do_ remember all that."

If the previous look was imposing, this one would have flayed anyone else to the bone. "Of _course_ I remember, stop deflecting." 

"Maybe we should leave?" Clint offered, glancing Natasha's way.

"I'm Russian, we don't believe in privacy," Natasha replied. "Besides, this is just getting good."

Just getting good. Well, Steve was glad someone thought so. Because this was clearly gearing up to be another one of _those_ nights. They hadn't had one in awhile. Steve had hoped – foolish of him, really – that maybe they were past this. Past Bucky feeling the need for penance or for guilt or that he had to push Steve's buttons just to make sure he'd stick around.

Like leaving would ever be an option where Bucky was concerned. Like Steve would ever even consider it. "I'm not deflecting. You have a _gift_. And it was abused and twisted and completely mishandled, but it's still a gift. One you're finally getting to use again because you want to, because it's your choice. How could I not be okay with that?"

"You can't put a spin on this or argue your way out of what I did."

"I'm not," Steve stressed. "You were brainwashed. Those bastards twisted up every single good thing about you into a fucking pretzel and then let you loose on the world just to see how much damage they could get you to do for them. That's not a spin or an argument. Those are facts."

"Well, the fact is, you better get used to this Bucky, pal, because I ain't going back to the old one."

This _again_. Like Steve was trapped in some bubble, stuck back in the past himself, unable or unwilling to move on, when they both knew better. _Nothing_ was the same, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to change that. "I never asked you to go back to the old you. I'm not the old me, either, in case you forgot."

Bucky tapped his temple with a metal finger. "My memory ain't what it used to be."

"Your sense of humor is _just_ as bad as it used to be," Steve pointed out, with an unimpressed look. Sometimes the best thing to do when Bucky got like this was let him rant for awhile. But sometimes, he needed a little more of a nudge.

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren't. So let me remind you of a few things. For one, I like you _just_ the way you are right now. For seconders –"

"That's not even a word, Steve."

"Shut up, I'm trying to make a goddamn point. Which is I like you, okay."

"Yeah, you said that already," Bucky said, with a fuck you smirk that Steve wanted to punch right off his face.

"Well, I just said it again," he gritted out, pissed at himself for letting Bucky push him into losing his cool. "God, I forgot how insufferable you are."

If possible, the smirk got even wider. "I thought you just said you liked me just the way I am."

"Seriously, I feel like we're invisible here. Or extraneous or something," Clint said, looking between them like he was watching a great tennis rally. "This isn't making you just a little bit uncomfortable?"

"They argue like we do. What's not to like?" Natasha replied, with a rakish grin. "Besides, in Russia, we have a saying - _Dvóe deŕutsya, trétiy ne mesháy_."

"I didn't mean we should jump in, just maybe we shouldn't be witnesses."

Natasha patted Clint's knee. "Maybe you'd feel better about watching if we had some popcorn."

"First cabinet on the left in the kitchen," Steve directed, but he didn't move his gaze from Bucky. "Seventy years and fuck knows how much torture and brainwashing you've been through and you're still a class A dick."

"Yeah, well, you're still a righteous pain in my ass, so I think we're even," Bucky replied. "And the sooner you realize shit will never be the way it was, the better off we'll both be."

"Who the hell said I wanted things the way they were? The way things _were_ , we could have been arrested for what we were doing together. The way things _were_ , I'd probably have died from my asthma or my heart murmur or TB or fuck, who knows what else."

"Steve –"

Steve shook his head sharply. "Shut up, Bucky. You don't get to tell me what I feel. Not even you have that right."

"Fine." Bucky threw up his hands in surrender. "You're peachy fucking keen with me being an ex-brainwashed Hydra assassin and with everyone we ever loved either dead or senile and with missing your chance with Peggy and –"

His heart lurched at the mention of Peggy's name, but he didn't let it deter him. "I didn't say I was _okay_ with it. But we survived. We're both _here_ and we're _together_ and I don't care what that makes me and I don't care that we're different or damaged. And if you think I'm going to pass judgment on you for your time as the Winter Soldier, you can fucking well think again." 

He was the last person on earth to judge the things Bucky'd been forced to do. Besides, he had his own weight and his own regrets to carry, and he knew that Bucky really would murder him in his sleep for real if he tried to shoulder Bucky's, too.

"I think Cap won that point," Clint said, when Bucky didn't say anything in reply.

"I think he won the argument," Natasha concurred.

Steve wanted to smile in triumph, but didn't. "Ignore the peanut gallery," he said. "If you need me to keep going until I've convinced you, I've got all night."

"Yeah, you would, too," Bucky said, after a long moment. 

"Damn right I would. So, we're clear?"

"Yeah, we're clear. But I'm not going to apologize for pushing you."

"I'm insulted you'd think I'd want you to."

"Just making sure." Then Bucky patted at the space next to him. "You want in on this next round or not?"

"Steve's got some unusual kills on his belt?" Natasha asked, with a perfectly raised eyebrow. "I'm hurt you never shared them with me."

"There've been a few," Steve admitted, and took the seat next to Bucky. And when Bucky's hand dropped to his knee, he let out an inward sigh of relief and shifted closer until he could drop his head on Bucky's shoulder. 

"These I've gotta hear." Clint picked up his beer bottle again. "Out with it."

"I doubt any of 'em'll compare to yours or Nat's or Bucky's, but –"

"Not true, there was the time in...Pilsen? With the car?"

"Passau," Steve corrected, with a small smile. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You'd be surprised how much I'm remembering these days. But yeah, you're right, it was Passau. Monty bitched the whole time about how terrible the Danube smelled."

"Well, it was pretty bad."

"What'd you do with the car?" Clint asked. "Because throwing one on someone is a little too brute force for what we're going for here."

"Nah, nothing like that. He didn't use the entire car, just the engine block," Bucky said, clearly pleased that he'd remembered what had happened. Steve simply kept his mouth shut and let him talk, gave Bucky the opportunity to claim yet another piece of his past, of their past together.

 

   
+1. _"Is there hope for me after all is said and done_  
_Anything at any price, all of this for you_  
_All the spoils of a wasted life, all of this for you"_

 

No one thought Hydra was going to go down easy, and if the intel Coulson and May had provided was true, there were only so many options open to them that wouldn't jeopardize a lot of innocent people. Which was why, when Stark called the entire team to the Tower to go over infiltration strategies to take down a base near Kazakhstan, Bucky already knew what would be asked of him. He'd been preparing himself for this inevitability ever since he'd agreed to join the Avengers. Sure, at the time he'd made a big deal about watching Steve's back because someone needed to keep an eye on him, but he knew – he'd always known – what his true worth was to the group.

His gaze flicked across the room and everyone in it in one quick glance. They all looked focused, willing to follow Steve into battle, ready to do whatever was asked of them. It was a good team. A solid team, one Bucky had been proud to fight alongside. One he knew would fight to the last person for Steve and his cause. How could he possibly ask them to take a risk he wouldn't, to put themselves on the line when there was a much better choice at hand, and all it required was a sacrifice he should have made a long, long time ago. He'd been living on borrowed time for decades. Time to pay the price.

_Никто не живет вечно. _

"Place seems to be a goddamn fortress," Tony was saying, looking at the satellite topographical display from all angles. "I gotta be honest, this one might take a minute or two to crack open."

"If we had some sort of idea what they were even doing there, that would help," Clint said. "Shame we can't get inside without drawing attention to ourselves." 

Right on cue, Bucky thought, and gave himself a single moment to steel himself before speaking. "There's a way."

"There is?" Sam asked, perplexed.

Steve shot him an inscrutable look. "Enlighten me."

"Simple. If we want to know what Hydra's planning, it makes sense to have someone on the inside." 

Steve's face drained entirely of color. "No. Absolutely not."

"You haven't even heard my plan yet," Bucky protested, even as Steve shook his head again.

"Because I know what you're going to say and the answer's no. This isn't up for debate or discussion or anything else. No."

Tony raised a hand. "Uh, not to question Cap's authority or anything –"

"Good."

"– but what is it, exactly, that we're not doing?"

"I've been mostly providing cover fire with Clint and acting as an extra set of eyes on missions," Bucky explained. "I'm not on the ground with the rest of the Avengers."

"You've lost me," Bruce said.

"Meaning no one's actually seen Barnes," Natasha replied. "Not and lived to tell the tale." Bucky'd always loved that she was the smartest person in any room.

"Meaning Hydra most likely doesn't know I've defected or regained my memories or anything else."

"Meaning you want to..." Tony trailed off. "Yeah, okay, that's, um –"

"A terrible fucking idea and we're not doing it," Steve stated, with a determined look that Bucky knew by heart.

"Using yourself as a decoy is risky," Thor chimed in, crossing his arms over his chest. "We could not guarantee your safety."

"Well, it's the best idea we've got," Bucky argued, because someone needed to make Steve see reason. "There are a lot of lives at stake, not just mine."

Steve didn't look all that impressed. "You don't get to play that card. Not with me."

"Sure I do," Bucky retorted. "You're the bastion of moral rectitude and the greater good here. I'm just trying to be more like you."

"Oh fuck you. Just because I'm trying to be a good man, don't mistake that to mean I'm a _nice_ man. Because I'm not. Not when it comes to someone threatening the people I love."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know. Nice was never your deal."

"Wait, what?" Clint asked, with a puzzled frown.

Bucky waved a negligent hand in Steve's direction. "Please, he never would have made it in Project Rebirth or in the War if he couldn't turn the nice guy switch off."

"I...huh, I guess I never thought about that," Tony mused.

"Yeah, well, I'm used to people underestimating me," Steve said. "Been dealing with it my whole life."

"Steve, listen –" Bucky started, but Steve cut him off.

"No, _you_ listen. I'm not losing you again. _Ever._ Not on my watch. No matter what. You're not pretending to be The Asset and turning yourself in to Hydra. We find another way."

He'd known Steve was going to argue with him – he'd counted on it, in fact, just so he could use it to sell the plan to the rest of the group – but by now, Steve should have gotten on board with the program. He wasn't usually so slow to catch on. "You're letting your emotions get the better of you, Rogers. They don't have any place in a mission."

"Yeah, you're a fucking riot," Steve scoffed. "Emotions are the _only_ thing that matter. It's all that makes us human. And that's the only truth I care about."

"You sound like one of your war films," Bucky shot back, because fuck Steve right now and his sermonizing bullshit. "Go sell your patriotic Captain America song and dance to Broadway, 'cause I ain't buying it."

"You were always pretty cheap."

"Is that supposed to be code for easy?" Tony asked, and even as spitting mad as Bucky was, he still appreciated that Tony was trying to defuse the thick layer of animosity in the air.

"I was always easy, especially where Steve's concerned," he said, then turned back to Steve. "This mission isn't any different than Palermo and you know that."

"Pretending to be a Hydra agent and pretending to be The Asset again are completely different."

 _Yпрямая скотина._

"So, what, we do it your way?" Bucky asked, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Which is what, exactly? Oh wait, I know exactly what your way is – you go in all hot, take all the risks and somehow it's supposed to be okay that we're doing mop up duty instead of the jobs we were trained to do. This is no different than sending Gabe of Jacques or even Peggy out on a mission."

"Buck..."

Bucky shook off Steve's hand. "Don't _Buck_ me, goddammit. I have _just_ as much of a right as you do to put myself on the line now as I did back with the Commandos. I didn't hear a fucking peep out of you in Munich or Prague or Zurich or Lille or Warsaw –"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Every word out of his mouth was a precise, short clip. "It's different now. We're not at war, not like that."

"You don't get to decide the risks I take or the battles I fight."

"Yeah, you're fucking hilarious if you think that."

"So...fifty on Cap?" Sam muttered, under his breath, but loud enough that Bucky heard him.

"Eff that, a c-note on Barnes wiping the floor with his ass," Clint countered.

"I just want them to figure something out so we can get on with the mission," Tony said. "Although my money's on Natasha knocking them both upside the head."

"You say the sweetest things, Tony."

Bucky ignored them like so much background noise. "Just let me fucking do this, Steve. I can get you the intel we need and if something happens, so be it, we all know I'm the expendable one –"

The punch caught him by surprise.

Steve's fist landed square on his mouth, and knocked him back a good few steps. Bucky could feel the bruise starting to blossom on his chin, and spat out a wad of blood mixed with saliva. His lower lip felt cracked and swollen.

Steve's knuckles were scraped raw where they'd come against Bucky's teeth. But his gaze was glacier-cold and as steady as a fucking mountain. "No one on this team is expendable. We find another way in." Then he finally turned to the group at large. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Did _not_ see that one coming," Tony commented, after a long beat of shocked silence.

"Note to self, do not piss off Captain America," Sam added.

"Your advice is about eighty years too late," Bucky answered, wiggling his jaw. Steve had pulled it a little bit – his jawbone would have been broken otherwise – but it still hurt like a motherfucker. 

"Stop talking," Steve said, without looking at him. "Anyone else have a plan or not?"

Natasha just shot Bucky a look that would have been apologetic if it had come from anyone else and stepped up to the hologram display and pointed. "Thor, do you think you could take out the electrical grid in this sector?"

"Certainly," Thor said, after giving Steve an indecipherable look. 

Steve just stepped closer to the display, and away from Bucky. "Keep going," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, and, with another glance Bucky's way, Natasha complied.

***

After the mission had been successfully completed – following Natasha's infiltration plan, so Bucky considered the argument a draw – Steve disappeared just as soon as the quinjet's wheels touched the landing pad on top of Avengers Tower. Bucky watched him stalk away, still too amped and pissed off from both the battle and the earlier fight to even think about chasing after him or what he'd even say if he wanted to. Some time apart would do both of 'em some good. Besides, he wasn't up for another round. The lower half of his face was still sore.

"You want a drink or something?" Bruce asked, stopping beside him to watch Steve take the express elevator down to the ground floor. Bucky had no doubts that Steve would be on his bike and as far from Midtown as he could manage in a few short minutes.

"Sure," he answered. Not like he was itching to head back to an empty house. "As long as you make mine a double."

They left the others to take care of debriefing (Bucky knew Stark was bankrolling the whole operation, but he also knew Coulson and Fury liked to be kept in the loop as much as they could) and took one of the other elevators down to Bruce's floor. Bucky took a curious look around – he and Bruce were friendly, sure, but they weren't exactly bosom buddies, and this was the first time he'd ever been in Bruce's living space. It was cozier than he'd expected. Lots of greenery and earth tones and nice looking furniture made of teak and mahogany and balsa wood. Reminded Bucky a little of places he'd been to in Thailand or Laos.

Bruce headed right for the small bar next to what looked like a meditation area, complete with mats and incense, and held up a bottle of Dark Horse rye. "This good?"

"It's fine." He was just thankful that Bruce wasn't offering vodka. It stopped being funny after the fifth time Stark had tried it.

He bypassed the sofa and dropped cross-legged onto one of the cushions in the middle of the floor. And smiled his thanks when Bruce pressed a tumbler into his hands and took the cushion across from him. 

"So, and you can tell me it's not of my business if you want, but do the two of you always argue like that?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Ever since we were kids." Bucky smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Everyone in this day and age seems to think he followed my lead on everything, but the truth is, we were side by side when I wasn't chasing after him and trying to save his scrawny ass. It was just the execution where we tended to argue."

"Like today," Bruce guessed.

"Yeah, like today. And fuck him anyway. I have just as much right to put my life on the line as him and he knows it." 

This was no different than the War or any of the other battles they'd fought as Avengers, and Steve seemed to be the only one that hadn't gotten the memo. _глупость такого масштаба это талант._ Something Steve had always had in spades.

He wished – not for the first time – that Peggy was in any kind of shape to knock some sense into Steve. She'd always had a knack for getting him to see reason. (More than anyone else with the Commandos, he missed her most of all. He and Steve both could live another ten lifetimes and never stumble across anyone fit to stand in her shadow.)

"I don't think it's your life he's worried about putting on the line," Bruce said. It didn't take a genius to figure out where he was headed.

"I'm not...I wouldn't _let_ myself become The Asset again." Hyrda had taken enough from him. He wasn't giving them anything else, no matter what sacrifice he had to make. 

"If you go undercover and turn yourself over to Hydra, they might not give you a choice."

"So it's okay that I still don't get a choice when it's Steve giving the orders?"

Bruce shrugged. "You tell me."

"I think that Steve's the worst sort of _lavry Matrossova pokoya nye dayut_. One who would take every stupid chance in the book if it meant keeping even one person safe," Bucky replied. "But he was like that before. He's always been like that. All the serum did was make it worse."

"Funny, he says the same thing about you," Bruce replied, with a small, wry smile. "That you were the type to jump feet first into battle, damn the consequences."

"Does he?" Figured Steve would try to twist things around like that. God only knew the stories he'd told. Bucky made a mental note to ask about them sometime so he could set the record straight. He wasn't anyone's idea of a hero, never had been. "I don't take nearly the chances he does."

"But you would if we'd let you," Bruce pointed out. "You think going out there and covering point and throwing yourself on every grenade will somehow be enough penance for what you've done."

Getting pissed at the man who could turn into an indestructible wrecking ball wasn't the best idea ever, but Bucky couldn't help the brusque, sharp tone. "You don't get to lecture me about penance. You have _no_ idea the things I've done."

Far from getting angry, Bruce just looked at him with a terrible sort of pity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I'm the only one even remotely qualified to lecture you about penance."

"Why?" Bucky asked. "Because you'll Hulk out on me if I don't see reason?"

"Because I know exactly what it's like to be a weapon of mass destruction and I know what it's like to have to live with all that carnage and all that damage every single day."

A weapon of mass destruction. _Fuck._ How could he have, even for one second, forgotten what Bruce lived with? " _Blya, ya nye eto imel v vidu..._ " Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe he'd been so careless, so stupid. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

Bruce shrugged. "I'm way more of a terrorist threat than you ever were on your best day."

"You're not a terrorist."

"And neither are you," Bruce replied, lifting his glass in an odd sort of toast. "But you do need to come to some sort of grip on what you can and can't control and you need to learn to come to peace with the part of you that likes being a stone-cold killer, because that's the only way you're going to survive with any sort of sanity intact."

"What makes you think I like being a killer?" He wasn't mad or even defensive, although he thought he should be. He was just curious. Maybe Bruce could see how much he still struggled sometimes to stay anywhere near the path Steve had been forging since they'd been kids. 

Bruce's return smile was the saddest thing Bucky'd ever seen. "Even the angels of the Old Testament were killers. It's not necessarily a bad thing. And you wouldn't be human if you didn't like the rush that came from the act of destruction. From the power you wield over another person's life. And there _is_ a certain beauty in what you do, or what Natasha does, in what Clint or Steve or Tony does..."

"In what you do," Bucky finished. If he was on the hook, he wasn't letting Bruce wiggle off of it.

"Sure, yeah, in what the Big Guy does – what I do," Bruce amended, with a nod. "The point is, I know hard it is to live in the ashes of the destruction you've wrought, and how all you can do in the end is your best and hope that's enough to balance the scales."

"I don't think mine are ever going to be even."

"You ever stop to think that Steve doesn't care?"

Bucky blew out a short breath. "Bruce, Steve doesn't even think that I _need_ to balance the scales."

"Maybe he's got a point."

"Yeah, maybe." Even though Bucky knew it wouldn't stop him from trying. Others could call it penance, Steve could call it foolishness, but Bucky knew what it really was at the end of the day was proving to himself and everyone around him that he could make the hard choices and do what needed to be done. "You know we'd keep a therapist busy for years with all our issues."

Bruce took a small sip of his drink. "Therapy might not actually be a bad idea for you. Or Steve. Or both of you, really."

Bucky tried to imagine him and Steve in some sort of fucked up version of couples' therapy and had to bite back the laugh. "Yeah, I'm not so sure lying on a sofa and talking about my feelings about what happened to me and all the atrocities I've committed is a good idea. I'd hate to give anyone else nightmares."

"Understandable, but you need an outlet, or at least someone to talk to," Bruce said. "Be it Sam or me or Natasha or some random stranger on the subway, you can't keep everything bottled inside you."

"And who's your sounding board?" Bucky asked, curious. He still knew so little about Bruce or his past or what drove him.

"Sometimes it's Pepper, sometimes it's Tony – believe it or not, he does a pretty good job of listening when he needs to – sometimes I do tantric yoga. It helps," Bruce added, with another small shrug.

Bucky had no doubts, but yoga really wasn't his style, either. "I'll take your word for it."

Bruce chuckled. "Just work on finding what works for you. Whatever that is."

"I will. And thanks for the kick in the ass," he said, with a rueful smile. He liked to think he was still man enough to admit when he was wrong. "I needed it."

Bruce clinked his glass against Bucky's. "You can always count on me."

***

When Bucky finally made it back home, he felt as drained as if he'd gone ten rounds with Natasha in the gym. He shrugged out of his jacket and scarf and headed to the living room. There was a basketball game on the big wall-mounted TV – Nets vs. Hawks, from the looks of it – and Steve was sprawled on the too-big sofa dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, but Bucky could tell he wasn't all that relaxed. Not if the lines around his mouth and the perfectly still way he held himself were any indicators.

"Who's winning?" he asked, even though he couldn't give less of a fuck. He had to break the ice somehow.

"The Nets are getting murdered, but what else is new," Steve replied, but didn't turn.

"You, uh, you want a beer or anything?"

"Sure, if you're headed that way."

Yeah, it was gonna be like that, alright. Bucky couldn't say he was surprised. Steve's stubborn streak was only surpassed by his sense of righteous anger, and when they collided, it tended to be pretty epic. Bucky wished, not for the first time, that he and Steve could still get drunk. Inebriated Steve was a lot easier to calm down.

He snagged two bottles of whatever microbrew Steve was into this week and made his way back into the living room. Steve hadn't moved, not that Bucky had expected anything else. He just handed Steve his bottle and took the seat next to him, careful to keep some distance between them.

"We gonna talk about this or just sit here and pretend like we give a fuck about basketball?"

Steve cast him a sidelong glance. "I guess that depends on you."

"Fine, it's on me." He took a swig of his beer, and winced at the too-bitter taste. He would be happy as hell when Steve moved on from IPAs to something else that didn't taste like concentrated malt-flavored shit. "I'm not sorry I suggested going undercover as The Asset."

Steve took a long pull from his bottle. "I know you're not. Just like I'm not sorry I punched you."

"You definitely pack more of a wallop these days," Bucky admitted. No wonder Steve and Thor sparred with each other all the time.

"Something you might want to remember for the future."

"Next time I'm swinging back."

"You wouldn't be you if you gave me more than one free shot."

"And I'm not sorry that keeping you out of the line of fire is my first instinct."

Steve tensed, and the temperature in the room dropped. "I don't need protecting. Haven't in a long time."

Bucky snorted. As stubborn and as blind as always. "You don't fucking get it, do you," he said, and continued without waiting for a response. "It doesn't matter how big you are or how well you can fight now or how many battles you've fought and won. Part of me is always going to see you as the skinny kid with more balls than brawn and that part of me is always going to want to protect you."

"That goes both ways, Buck." Steve finally glanced his way, and Bucky's breath caught at the look in his eyes. "All my life, I just wanted to be able to stand beside you and take all the punches you took for me. We're better as a unit. We always have been."

It took Bucky a few seconds to find his voice. Steve's faith in him was as humbling as it was mystifying. A debt he could never repay, no matter what he did. "You're right, it's always been you and me. I can accept that. But if we're a unit, it means you can't take all the fucking risks out there on the battlefield."

Steve set his bottle on the coffee table with a quiet thunk and twisted so he was facing Bucky head on. The look on his face was serious in a way that Bucky'd maybe only seen a bare handful of times. "Do you remember what my mom used to say to us all the time? On the days when we were arguing over something stupid and we were both too stubborn to back down? She used to say, we didn't need to be whole all on our own..."

"...we just needed to know how to stitch all the pieces together," Bucky finished, and nodded, throat closing tight. They were still both so much wreckage and debris, less actual people than they were damaged goods. But maybe they could build something stronger together from the ruins of all that had come before.

Steve grinned in triumph, showing just a hint of teeth. "Exactly. _Together._ I'm good with you at my side or at my six, you know that. I just don't want you out there on your own." Steve dragged Bucky's metal hand to his lap, held tight. "So no more talk of going solo or acting like you're just another weapon to point and shoot at the enemy. You're so much more than that to me and to everyone else."

"So're you," Bucky said, a pointed reminder. He wasn't the only martyr in this room, and it was past time someone reminded Steve of that. "Understood?"

Steve saluted with his free hand, short and military-sharp. "Message received, loud and clear."

"Good," Bucky replied, only slightly mollified. "It's about fucking time you got your head out of your ass long enough to hear it."

"What can I say, I've never been too good at listening."

Bucky harrumphed. "You can say that again."

Steve nudged his shoulder, good humor finally restored. "Lucky for me, you love me anyway."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," Bucky replied, even though they both knew the truth. "Maybe I'm just in it for the sex."

"Maybe we both are, you ever think about that," Steve replied, with a wide grin that would always be the most beautiful thing in Bucky's life. "I mean, pain in my ass aside, you've always been a pretty fantastic lay."

"You say the sweetest things."

Steve pulled him just that much closer, and their lips met once, then twice, in apology and forgiveness, the only touchstone Bucky would ever need. "That's me, the smoothest talker in all of Brooklyn," Steve murmured, the low burr of his voice sending shivers all through Bucky's body.

"In that case, maybe we should move on to the make-up sex portion of the evening. I think that's a much better use of our time." In fact, getting Steve naked and sweaty and incoherent sounded like the best plan Bucky'd had all day.

"You always did have good ideas, Barnes."

"That's why I'm the true brains of this outfit, Rogers."

***

**Author's Note:**

> " _Spasibo za preduprezhdeniye._ " - Thank you for the warning.
> 
> " _Nye rubi s plecha, poprobuy ponyat' yego._ " - Let him down gently.
> 
>  _дебил хренофф._ \- Stubborn idiot.
> 
> " _Govori, seychas zhe. Seychas zhe!_ " - Out with it. Now.
> 
>  _Dostal uzhe._ \- Enough.
> 
>  _Ya tiebya vizhu_ \- I see you.
> 
> " _Iz vsego chto ty mog sdelat' glupogo..._ " - Of all the fucking stupid things... 
> 
> _Dvóe deŕutsya, trétiy ne mesháy_." - When two people are fighting, don't interfere.
> 
>  _Никто не живет вечно._ \- No one lived forever.
> 
>  _Yпрямая скотина._ \- Stubborn son of a bitch.
> 
>  _глупость такого масштаба это талант._ \- Stupidity like that was a gift.
> 
>  _lavry Matrossova pokoya nye dayut_ \- self-sacrificing idiot 
> 
> _"Blya, ya nye eto imel v vidu..."_ \- Fuck, that's not what I meant...
> 
>    
> Special thanks to Leelust for her help with the Russian and to Melle for the unbelievable kick-ass betas and advice, and G. for the GSaP beta. All remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
>    
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


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